Amalgamation
by fireexitturnright
Summary: Everyone thought he was dead and that's how he liked it. He would keep them away to keep them safe. He was a monster after all. But when a string of gruesome murders leads a familiar face to his doorstep, what must he do to make them give up the investigation? Sometimes, Jean's friends were too smart for their own good. Jean/Roy, Breda/OC, Al/OC
1. Chapter 1

_[ Authors Note: This first chapter does not contain anything particularly explicit but I would like you to know about some things you can expect in future chapters, in case it is not your cup of tea. Firstly, this story does feature a gay couple, Havoc & Mustang, as well as several straight couples, Hughes & Gracia, Breda & OC, Alphonse & OC. And secondly, there will be several sex scenes through out the story that I will do my best to make in the best of taste but still require a warning. There is also violence and some angst, but if you've already seen the show then I think you can handle it. This story is based off the manga & 2009 anime. ]_**  
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* * *

**Amalgamation**

**Chapter 1**

The fluorescent light from the ceiling stung at Roy's tired eyes. It was two in the morning and he should have been in bed. His aching body was begging him for rest but he'd be damned if he was about to oblige it. Who could sleep at a time like this? Certainly not him, nor any of his subordinates.

The entire team sat quietly in a row of poorly cushioned brown chairs in the middle of the vacant hospital lobby. It looked no different from any of the other hospital lobbies Roy had had the misfortune of visiting over the years. Stark white walls & tiled floors surrounding several rows of chairs with two or three hardwood doors tightly shut to keep out the noise from the busy hallways beyond them. The space itself provoked neither feelings of hope nor despair. It was instead the nature of the visit that made the smell of sanitizer make Roy feel sick to his stomach.

Across from the Colonel sat four of his five most trusted subordinates, each one of them looking as broken & bruised as the last. Master Sergeant Kain Fuery, the smallest & youngest member, looked as though he might burst into tears at any moment. He tried to hide his watery eyes behind his shattered glasses, but he was never very good at keeping his emotions to himself. This dreadful waiting had been eating him alive and Roy began to worry that any moment now he might break. It was hard enough just sitting there in the quiet. The alchemist hated trying to imagine how awful it might be to try and keep face with Fuery sobbing just a few feet away.

Next to Fuery sat Warrant Officer Vato Falman, a typically very resigned sort of man. He kept a rigid posture and had barely moved at all in the last hour. His gaze stayed carefully fixed to a tile on the floor as he did his best to keep his expression emotionless. If it had been anyone else assessing him they would have thought he had been unfazed by the situation, even with the blood still dripping from his nose. But Roy could tell he was just as worried as the rest of them, but he was trying to be strong for Fuery's sake. If the younger man did end up bursting into tears, Roy knew he could rely on Falman to attend to him and possibly take Fuery elsewhere if necessary.

Next to Falman and across from Roy sat his most trusted subordinate & personal bodyguard, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. She too typically kept a very stoic demeanor while on the job. But this wasn't strictly 'on the job' now was it? There was no mission to complete, no paperwork to push, no enemies to protect Roy from. There was only sitting, waiting, hoping, _praying_. One of her closest friends was somewhere down the hall fighting for his life. This was not a particularly common working experience. And that, Roy judged, had been what afforded Riza the leeway she needed to furrow her brow and frown. The anxiety tightening the muscles across her bandaged face.

And finally there was Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda, who had barely even acknowledged anyone else's presence since they had entered the hospital. Leaning back with his head tilted up towards the ceiling he stared blankly at the tiles, his dark eyes flickering from one to another every so often. Roy gathered Breda had placed himself where he could be most comfortable, deep in thought, a safe place for one with an investigative mind. But judging by the expression written on his brow, this safe place had still been invaded by thoughts of none too pleasant things. Like affairs that he may have to sort. Friends he hoped he wouldn't need to call. A grieving mother he might have to sit next to at funeral he never _honestly_ believed he'd be attending. Breda wasn't nearly as emotional as Fuery, but Roy could see he was just as distraught. He purposefully avoided Roy's gaze in hopes he wouldn't notice the watery glaze over his pupils. Breda did not want his commanding officer to see him cry, if and when the time came. But Roy would not look down at him for it in the least though. Breda was a strong man, but he knew even the strongest of men would always have their moments of weakness.

Why even him, the almighty Colonel Roy Mustang, The Flame Alchemist, The Hero of Ishval. Even he found himself spiraling downwards in emotional crisis over this. Although his feelings towards the situation were a bit more severe than that of his comrades, at least they could place the blame on someone else for this misgiving. Roy was not so lucky.

* * *

It was less than a month ago that the Colonel had found out that, at last, his unit would be making a transfer to Central Headquarters. Roy could not have been more ecstatic; this is what he had been working towards for years. It was crucial step in his plan to climb the military's chain of command and achieve his ultimate goal, to become Fuhrer.

The transfer was a quick & easy process. It didn't take long for his subordinates to grow accustomed to the bustle of Central City. Being from Central himself, Roy found it comforting to be back on his home turf. A place he knew like the back of his hand.

It was only a week after the move that he was debriefed on the latest mission his team was to assist with. The reason, Roy assumed, that they had been relocated so quickly. Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes had gathered quite a substantial amount of evidence against a very prominent criminal organization attempting to rule the city from its underbelly. Hughes had hoped that Roy would help him put the final nail in the mafia's coffin by finding their hide out and staging a raid. Ever the opportunist, Roy was more than happy to oblige his old friend and agreed to the mission, hoping it would get him into the Fuhrer's good graces.

Between Hughes & Breda's investigative skills and Fuery's talent for radio surveillance, it was only a matter of days before they had located the mobs whereabouts and outlined a plan to ensnare the criminals into custody.

As per usual Hawkeye insisted that the Colonel stay out of the field and let her & Lieutenant Havoc stand at the forefront of the raid. But being his usually stubborn and protective self Roy insisted that he be there should anything go wrong. He knew that he had a very capable lot of soldiers serving beneath him, but they were also his friends. Friends who if ever got hurt, he would want to be there to protect them.

Unfortunately though, Roy would end up doing much more harm than good.

The attack on the criminal enterprise was going according to plan. They had been caught completely off guard by the military, a good portion of the gang finding themselves with no other option than to surrender. There were still a descent amount of criminals eager to give the soldiers a run for their money though.

They had attempted to escape through the sewers beneath their den and Mustang's unit did not hesitate to pursue. But the outlaws' knowledge of the underground as well as the low light of the tunnels gave them an unforeseen advantage. They split up and came at the team from all sides. Fuery ended up getting tossed into a cement wall, Falman was slapped in the face with the butt of a rifle, and Breda tackled a man to the ground and ended up breaking his hand. In the end it was the two blonde sharp shooters and Roy's own trusty fire alchemy that ended up saving the squads asses.

But Roy ended up making one very crucial mistake, he got cocky. He felt untouchable by these lowlifes. What match were they for him and his fire alchemy? He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings as carefully as he should have been. He wasn't aware that several of the young men creeping in the darkness in front of him were merely a distraction while a few other members of their gang had circled around to come at him from the side.

Roy hadn't even noticed their presence until he heard gun shots and turned. He took note of the three bodies on the ground first, then looked up to see Jean Havoc standing there with his back to him. Roy smiled and thanked Havoc for watching his back, expecting some sarcastic quip about how he should be more careful next time. But he instead received only a strangled groan from the lieutenant, the first sign that something was wrong. Roy stood there for a moment and called the other man's name, waiting for him to turn around. Hoping that maybe that sound didn't mean what he thought it meant.

Slowly the younger man turned to him and Roy could feel his arms go limp as he took in the sight before him. Havoc was bleeding, and badly. He hadn't even removed the two knives lodged into his abdomen and already he was losing a copious amount of blood. Roy had to run to catch him as he fell unconscious from shock.

Everything after that was a blur to Roy. He remembered very few details aside from the actual events of hauling Jean out of the sewer. Then escorting him into an ambulance, following it to the hospital and finally being ushered to the emergency room lobby where he had now been waiting with his team for nearly two hours.

* * *

'_This is your fault.'_ Roy slumped over, his head getting closer to his knees with each passing minute.

'_If he dies, it's your fault.'_ He felt as though he was going to be sick.

'_He trusted you, he protected you. And what did he get in return?'_ He was going to puke all over this nice, white tile floor in front of his men.

"Sir..." A voice called faintly in the distance, but the sound of Roy's abysmal thoughts blocked it out.

'_A knife in his gut.'_ His mind still continued criticizing him, answering its own questions _'No wait, two knives actually._' It corrected, as if Roy didn't feel horrible enough. So horrible in fact the he clasped a gloved hand over his mouth to hold the vomit back, because he really _did_ feel like he was going to be sick.

"Sir…" The feminine voice called again, breaching Roy's senses but not his mind. He heard the voice but did not process it.

'_How could you let this happen!'_ His mind screamed with a sense of urgency.

"Colonel!" The forceful feminine voice and a firm hand on his shoulder finally managed to break through Roy's sickening delirium, pulling him from his guilt ridden mental abuses and back into reality.

The Colonel straightened and looked around nervously, noticing how each of his subordinates gave him a concerned and somehow impatient stare. Oh god, he hadn't actually puked, had he? Roy looked at his hands and then down to the floor where he saw nothing but pristine white tile. He couldn't help but sigh a little in relief.

"Colonel…" Hawkeye called again, arresting his attention this time. He noticed how her amber eyes hesitantly gave him a quick once, as if they were searching for something in his features. The lieutenant quickly gave up on the endeavor though and brought her face back to its standard stony appearance. "The doctor is here to speak with you now."She calmly told him as she turned away to the door.

Roy followed her gaze to a man in green scrubs standing pensively a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back. It took him a moment to realize it but this was one of the surgeons that had been working on Havoc. He had come out to tell them how the procedure had gone.

At first Roy was nothing but relieved, at last the waiting was over. But as he rose from his chair and took that first step towards the other man he realized that this did not necessarily mean good news. It could mean a number of things.

'_It could mean he's dead.'_

The very thought brought a tightness into Roy's chest that he hadn't felt for many years but still found so terribly familiar. It brought back memories that Roy did not care to relive, and people he did not care to remember right now. The man did his best to push images of his parents & Master Hawkeye to the back of his mind as he continued walking up to the doctor. He should not have let his psyche jump to such horrible conclusions, he should have some hope. Suddenly he felt guilty for trying to bury Havoc before he had even heard a word of his condition. But that was just Roy's mind trying to protect him, and it was right in doing so.

"Well…" Roy began weakly "How is he?"

The other man took a deep breath and looked Roy dead in the eyes. He was a younger man, possibly in his late twenties, but already he had developed a masterful poker face rivaling Roy's own. His dark eyes gave away nothing behind their fine sheen of serenity. He had done this before and would have to do it a hundred times over throughout the course of his career. He had learned the skills necessary for dealing with these types of situations. But those skills were more for the patient's family's sake rather than his own. Nothing could ever make him feel okay with having to do this. To utter those few precious words that would steal light from the eyes of the strongest of men. It still made him feel sick.

The surgeon hands tighten around themselves as he opened his mouth to speak. And with a calm and quiet voice he told Roy "We did everything we could, but it wasn't enough. I'm sorry to be the one telling you this, sir, but Jean Havoc is dead."

Had an explosive just gone off nearby? Had Armstrong punched him in the chest? Was Fullmetal tearing up the city again? Because could have sworn he felt himself reverberate from some sort of impact. Or perhaps that was just his heart dropping to the floor.

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_[A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review if you have the opportunity, critiques are also more than welcome.]_


	2. Chapter 2

**Amalgamation**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Mid-day on a warm spring afternoon would typically have been an ideal time for a pleasant trip to the country side. For Heymans Breda and his comrades though, it was anything but a joyous occasion. At the top of a grassy hill in a small graveyard they stood side by side in rows of three, on either side of a perfectly dug six foot grave. Each soldier dressed to a t in formal military attire with medals carefully clipped to the front of their jackets, black sashes wrapped around their shoulders, and officer caps donned atop their heads.

Colonel Mustang and his team would give their friend a proper military send off. That's what he deserved.

The funeral of 2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc was not a particularly large event. Only a few members of his immediate family were in attendance. But his extended family was in abundance. Of course Heymans, Colonel Mustang, and the rest of the unit were present. There were also several friends from central & eastern command there as well. Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina, Lieutenant Maria Ross, and even Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes were among them.

Heymans was a bit surprised to see the Lt. Colonel there, he knew he was a good friend of Mustang's but he had never really talked to Jean much. When he asked the older man about it before the ceremony all Hughes said to him was _'I wanted to give my respects to the man who gave his life to save my best friend. If it wasn't for him we might be burying Roy right now.'_

Heymans didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. But found he couldn't prevent himself from mentally making irritated comments towards the Colonel. Most of it being along the lines of _'Sure, better it be my best friend lying in that grave instead of yours.'_ The taste of resentment did not sit well in his mouth though. He wasn't angry at Hughes, he was angry at the situation. He was angry that Jean was dead. It wasn't fair for him, to be so loyal and courageous but still have to die. It just wasn't right.

As Heymans watched Jean's coffin being lowered into its grave these thoughts couldn't help but leak their way back into his brain. His feelings of sorrow & anger became so rapidly tangled that when his fists clenched and teeth ground together Heymans couldn't tell if it was to keep from crying or screaming.

A warm hand found its way to his shoulder and he turned to see Hawkeye desperately trying to comfort him. But as he observed her face he could see that she too was in need of some consoling.

He had expected Fuery or Rebecca to cry, they were both very emotional people. But Hawkeye was always very private about her feelings, only showing them through subtle gestures. So when Heymans saw the droplets of water streaming down her reddened cheeks he couldn't help but feel as though he was intruding and immediately looked away. But even though he couldn't bear to watch her cry, Heymans felt it was suitable for him to breach the barrier of professionalism between them, if only this once. He lifted a strong arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her to his side.

He was thankful that the rifles shot off at just that moment to block out the sound of her ragged breath and soft sniffles. As two men took up shovels and finally began laying the dirt over Jean's coffin, Heymans too shed a few more tears for his fallen comrade. His best friend.

It was almost dusk by the time the ceremony was over, the falling sun giving an ominous red hue to the sky. It seemed to fit the occasion.

The small crowd receded to the entrance of the cemetery at the bottom of the hill where a few of them parted ways. But Jean's parents had requested his comrades join them for dinner that night, so the unit stayed. His folks wanted to know about their son's life in the service and the friends he had died to protect. Heymans could at least muster up the emotional stamina to give them that much.

It wasn't until they were getting into the car did he notice the group was short of one. He looked back to the cemetery and took note of a dark figure still standing at the top of the hill in front of Jean's grave. Judging from his long black coat Heymans could tell it was the Colonel. He had stayed to grieve in private.

Mustang never said anything about it, but they all knew he blamed himself for Jean's death. Following the raid no one saw him for a few days. Granted none of them were expected to come in to work, seeing as they were all injured. Even still, he hardly ever answered their phone calls and when he did he attempted to keep the conversations as brief as possible. At first the Lieutenant had suspected he was just really depressed over the ordeal, just as Heymans was. But then Fuery told him how he had spotted Mustang on the sidewalk one day and before he could even say a word the man had actually turned around and began to walk in the opposite direction. That's when Heymans truly began to understand the extent of his commander's guilt.

It wasn't just sorrow that plagued the Colonel's heart, although that was surely in abundance. He was so contrite over this that he was actually _avoiding_ his subordinates. In his mind he was responsible for Jean's death, so there for he must also be responsible for the misery of Jean's family & friends. Losing one of your closest friends was hard enough, Heymans knew. But too also feel responsible for that lose, as well as the misery of the people around you? That was a pain that made him feel terrible just _thinking_ about.

Back at the Havoc family home Heymans kept a diligent eye on the clock, noting that it had been almost twenty minutes since they had left the Colonel at the cemetery. He told Hawkeye he was stepping outside to get some fresh air, but really he just needed a cigarette. Typically Heymans only smoked when he was really stressed out, but now that that appeared to be all the time it became almost second nature for him. Now he understood how Jean got so easily addicted to the habit.

On the front porch he leaned up against a support beam and pulled out the pack of cigarettes he kept hidden in the inside pocket of his military jacket. He popped one in to his mouth and moved to light it, but stopped when he heard a pair of hard soled shoes make their way up the steps. Slowly his dark eyes looked up, observing carefully as his commanding officer stood a few feet away.

All in all the man looked as he always did. His body language gave away nothing with his good posture and hands lazily shoved into his pockets. The man was always very good at hiding his emotions. But Heymans was too smart to be fooled; very seldom did a soldier ever truly let their body speak for their emotions. They were trained to be rigid and stoic. The face on the other hand typically gave away more than intended. A small twitch of the brow or curve in the lips could still be deceiving though. It was the eyes that gave away true emotion; they were the window to the soul after all. But once he took a look into the Colonel's eyes, his chest tightened with empathetic sadness and he immediately regretted his decision.

The Colonel's typically serene, confident eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, the skin around them puffy and red from crying. An observation the Lieutenant could have done without. The younger man looked away and feigned ignorance, but Mustang knew that Heymans was smart and could identify his expressions quite easily. So why did he display them so blatantly? Perhaps he wanted Heymans to witness the extent of his pain? Or maybe he was just tired of hiding it.

Doing his best to ignore his sullen commanding officer Heymans turned away, leaning on to the railing of the porch as he pretended to be fascinated with the sunset. He thought that Mustang would prefer it this way; they could both pretend this little encounter never happened and Heymans saw nothing. He figured the Colonel would walk into the house quickly, heading straight for the bathroom so he could clean himself up before anyone else saw. But instead he stood right there watching his subordinate fidget nervously under his gaze, taking quick drags off his cigarette to distract himself.

"You've started smoking too?" The older man asked almost casually. The sound of his voice making Heymans wince a bit as it came out as an unfamiliar croak.

Heymans didn't say anything at first. He looked down at his cigarette as it rolled between his large fingers, contemplating why the Colonel would ask such a stupid question at a time like this. It only took a moment to understand what the man was actually asking him though. Pulling the secret pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket again, he stretching it out towards Mustang, quietly asking "You want one?"

Without response the Colonel quickly took him up on the offer, as Heymans had expected. And as they stood there, just a few feet from one another, smoking their cigarettes and watching the sun set, Heymans couldn't help but think of all the things he wanted to say. Mostly he just wanted to tell Mustang how none of this was his fault. That Jean knew the risks and he was more than happy to die if it meant protecting someone else, especially Mustang.

That man was so hopelessly loyal to the Colonel; there were a few times when Heymans wondered just how much Jean cared for Mustang. If maybe there was something other than conviction that earned the older man Jean's endless devotion. But he knew better. That's just how Jean was, nothing more.

There were so many things he would have said to ease the desperate longing he felt to comfort his friend. It was hard to see the man in pain, even though he was hurting with him. Even more difficult for Heymans though, was knowing he couldn't do anything about it. No matter what he said it wouldn't lift this burden from Mustang's shoulders. So he kept quiet, and would remain so for as long as he had to.

* * *

But silence couldn't last forever, and neither could Heymans absence from the military.

He stood quietly in the corridor outside his unit's office at Central Command, grimacing a little bit at the large double doors. Up until this point he had been fine. He had treated it like any other day. But it wasn't any other day; it was his first day back to work since the incident. Since Jean's death.

Heymans tried his best not to think about it. His last few weeks on leave had given him plenty of time to do that. And he had done well playing ignorance to his own anxieties for the most part. But as every step through the military headquarters brought him closer to the office he couldn't deny the tight knot forming in his stomach.

How long had he been standing here staring at the damn knob? He couldn't be quite sure anymore but it was certainly too long. He took a deep breath and lifted a large hand to the handle. But just as his fingertips were about to make contact, the door pulled away.

Lieutenant Hawkeye pulled the door aside as she stepped out of the office. Scanning over a clipboard held in the crutch of her arm it took her a moment to register the soldier in her peripheral view. But once she looked up and saw who it was, her features lit up with a warm smile.

"Lieutenant Breda." She saluted. "Nice to have you back."

And just like that, with a kind smile and a stiff salute, the knot in Heymans stomach began to dissipate. "Nice to _be_ back, Lieutenant Hawkeye." He saluted and grinned. Why had he been so afraid of this? The couple of weeks he had spent on leave he had really missed his team. Heymans was not a man who could remain inactive for very long. But after he had finished helping Jean's family sort his affairs and reclaim possessions Heymans thought it be best to make some time for himself. After all, he wasn't going to be much use going back to work with a broken hand. But time to idle left time to dwell, which wasn't always a good thing. He needed something to keep him busy. He needed a goal to achieve, and a prize to look forward to. So once he could manage to flex his fingers without wincing he was more than happy to return to his work.

Hawkeye turned and walked back into the office, gesturing for him to follow with her free hand. As he stepped in and took a look around, everything appeared to be as he had left it. Four sturdy walls of stone, plush red carpet floor, wooden desks neatly placed in parallel rows side by side. At said desks worked several of his comrades, diligently filing paperwork.

Fuery looked up from the mechanical bits on his desk and smiled as he noticed his comrade. "Breda!" he exclaimed "You're back!"

"Hey Fuery, nice to see you." Heymans gave a lopsided smile towards the younger man. Then he turned to Falman, sorting papers at the other side of the room, and silently nodded. He smiled slightly and nodded back before returning to his duties.

"Lieutenant Breda." A familiar voice called from the back of the room with a confident, almost arrogant, tone he was used to hearing.

Heymans looked forward to the large windows at the back wall, sunlight steaming in through the carefully placed panels of glass. In front of them was station a large mahogany desk with papers stacked at each corner. In between them he found a familiar face staring back at him with a self satisfied smirk, chin carefully perched on top of his interlaced fingers. Heymans smirked and saluted.

"Colonel Mustang."

"It's nice to see you again, Lieutenant." Mustang uncrossed his fingers and motioned for the younger man to come closer.

"The same to you, Sir." He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked forward slowly, stopping just a foot in front of the Colonel's desk. He was nervous but did his best to keep it from showing. What was he going to say? What _could_ he say? Maybe it was best to say nothing at all. That seemed to be a reoccurring theme with Mustang.

Their last encounter after Havoc's funeral had shaken Heymans to say the least. He had never seen the Colonel wear his emotions so nakedly before and it was a bit more than just unsettling. By no means did Heymans begrudge Mustang for outwardly displaying his anguish, he had just as much of a right to be upset as the rest of them. But even still it had been hard to watch a man that Heymans had grown to admire wipe tears from his eyes.

"How have you been?" Mustang asked as he signed another form and placed it on top of the stack of papers to his right.

Small talk. Heymans could do small talk.

"Alright, I guess. The hands feeling a lot better, although it might be a little hard to make out my penmanship for a while." He pulled his left hand from his pocket and flexed his fingers. They were still a bit stiff, but he could make due.

Mustang leaned back in his chair and chuckled "That's alright. Have you ever seen Hughes' handwriting? Miserable chicken scratch." He shook his head at the thought. "If I can still make out that fools sad excuses for letters I'm sure we'll be just fine."

Heymans could feel his shoulders bounce as a laughed. He had forgotten how easy it was to fall in to friendly conversation with his superior. If it were anyone else things might have been terribly awkward and they would have tried to avoid each other like the plague. But Mustang was an expert conversationalist, which came in handy when you were trying to pretend like nothing had happened.

They chatted for a few more minutes. Mustang had inquired as to what Heymans had been up to on his 'little vacation' as he called it. They danced carefully around the subject of Havoc's family. Heymans couldn't help but take note as the Colonel looked down at his paperwork as soon as they were mentioned, trying to keep his face as blank as possible. They quickly moved past the topic though and on to more pertinent issues. Once Heymans was all caught up with the goings on of their unit he thought it best to allow the Colonel to get back to his paperwork. Seeing as he was actually _doing_ it for once.

At first he was pleased to see the Colonel acting like his old self again but Heymans knew better than that. He knew that there was more going on underneath that confident façade, this was Mustang after all. But for the time being he saw nothing unusual about the man. It was just a feeling.

There was one thing out of the ordinary though. A substantial amount of paperwork on the Colonels desk, which by itself was not surprising at all, but most of it actually appeared to be _complete_ paperwork. As in the Colonel, himself, had finished most of his own paperwork, without the help of a subordinate or Hawkeye's pistol to his back. Unusual, but nothing more.

He quietly walked away and took his place next to Falman at his old desk, covered in a fine sheen of dust. Had he really been gone that long?

He sighed as he sat down in the uncomfortable wooden chair, lazily pulling a pen and a handkerchief out of his coat pockets. It was sure to be a long day, but for once Heymans didn't mind.

* * *

The next few weeks carried on peaceful enough. The Colonel kept them busy with new assignments and paper work. And for a little while things almost felt the same as they were before. But just when things started feeling a little too comfortable he would look over to the empty desk next to him and suddenly it was time for a cigarette. He would stand out in the courtyard and try to focus on nothing in particular. Occasionally he would forget to do that and look up to the windows to his office and that's when he caught Mustang. He was staring out the window off in to the distance, his young features looking troubled and depressed.

Nothing would ever be the same again, and they all knew it.

Aside from a lack of laughter and the smell of cigarettes there were a few other changes in the office. The most noticeable being the Colonel's work ethic. Lately he did almost all of his paperwork himself, even though sometimes he seemed to be drowning in it. This most likely had to do with another discernible change. Before the Colonel only used to take important, high profile missions for the team. Missions he was sure would give him high marks among the senior staff and help further his goals. But lately it seemed he was snatching up whatever missions General Hakuro had in mind. Many of the other staff simply thought he was just trying to make an adamant push towards a promotion to Brigadier General. But Heymans & Hawkeye knew better. They could see Mustang's intentions for what they truly were, an attempt at escape.

In the years that Heymans had known him, Colonel Mustang had never been a very emotional man. He guessed that being raised by Madame Christmas coupled with his time in the Ishval War hadn't been an especially good breeding ground for emotional growth. The man possessed a damn near unbreakable façade and a tendency to avoid unnecessary physical contact. And after years of working Jean, Mustang even began using the same sarcastic quips to try and hide his true feelings. Mustang may have been smarter, but somehow Jean always managed to say the things that really got under his skin.

But there no more witty one liners, just paper work. Heymans wondered if Mustang even recognized what he was doing to himself, he hoped so. The idea that the man might be doing this subconsciously only made it harder to watch. Although it was good to see the Colonel working hard it was for all the wrong reasons. Heymans was afraid if it continued like this he may have to convince Hughes to give him a talking to, an intervention of sorts. He couldn't afford his commanding officer running himself ragged at a time like this.

"Lieutenant Breda." Mustang called from his desk and Heymans straightened in his chair. The Colonel stood from his chair and walked to the front door of the office, then turned t look back at his subordinate "Come with me, please." He said flatly.

"Yes, sir." Heymans curtly responded, placing another finished paper on top of a stack and capping his pen. He could already tell that something was amiss from the tone in his commander's voice. It was serious, not dismissive like when he had some reports for you to fill out. He was even more put off by the disconcerting silence as they walked through Central Commend. Mustang said nothing to him, didn't even look over his shoulder. This was serious, something was up.

After a few minutes they approached Lieutenant Colonel Hughes office in the investigations wing. Major Armstrong and his subordinates saluted Mustang as he approached.

"At ease." He nodded toward Armstrong as he walked by and the soldiers returned to their duties.

"Roy! Old buddy, I was wondering when you'd stop by." Hughes smiled jubilantly as the two entered his office.

"I brought what you asked for." Mustang smirked as he looked over at Heymans, who subsequently froze in the doorway.

"Wonderful." Hughes responded with something of a mischievous tone. "Close the door, would you Lieutenant Breda?" The older man instructed and the Lieutenant quickly obliged. What the hell was going on? Were they going to murder him or something?

"What is this about, sir?" Heymans nervously asked neither one in particular "Did I do something?"

The Lieutenant Colonel chuckled a little bit and shook his head "No, Lieutenant. Nothing like that." He leaned down to open one of the drawers of his desk "It's about what you going to do…" Hughes stood up and showed him a manila folder thick with information. "You see Lieutenant…" He threw it down on the desk and a few gruesome photographs of humans bodies shredded into pieces slipped out "…I want you to help me catch a killer."

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**[A/N]** Hughes & Heymans dream team, GO! I hope you guys enjoyed this latest installment. The next chapter will be more Roy feels and the chapter after that...shit goes _down_. So be on the look out for updates. All reviews & critiques are really appreciated. Thank you for ready my story.


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